Finding a Niche
by The Unbreakable Snape Fan
Summary: Written for HP Beholder 2009. When Severus Snape joins the staff at Hogwarts, things quickly take a turn for the worst. It takes a little strategy and a little luck, but the professors put Professor Snape in his place. Snape/McGonagall.


Finding a Niche

She was the first to volunteer to sit next to her former student, when it seemed, for a moment, as if no one at all would. Bravery was not something she lacked, even in such trivial issues as seating placement at the breakfast table. It was that short period of time they had before more students trickled in than just the early risers. She knew it well. Even though he was new to being this side of the staff table, he knew it well too.

"How have you been holding up, Severus?" she'd asked, and everyone had seemed to calm.

"Alright. You?" At this, everyone began their own conversations.

"Just another year," she said. "Just another year, that's all. Not for you, though. Today's your first. Are you up to the job?"

He carefully chose a few pieces of bacon. "Certainly," he said calmly. "I've been teaching my entire life. Though it's uncertain whether most minds have been up to it."

"Glad to hear it," she said. "That's much how I felt like, going in. Now I wish I had been just a bit more terrified."

"Ah, but you forget where I've been," he said, and it caused her to smirk, just a little.

"Be that as it may, Professor Snape, you've never faced a gaggle of uninterested teenagers first thing in the morning." When he suddenly looked as if he was beginning to get nervous, she gave him a nudge. "But that's not going to faze you, is it?"

When he cleared his throat and started in on his food, she allowed Professor Flitwick to draw her into conversation.

* * *

It was uncanny how much he still looked like a lonely little student when hunched over a book, oblivious to the chattering going on around him. Or the way he still looked like he owned the world (or at the very least, claimed to) on a walk around the grounds. Or the way he sat alone on the train, not talking except to ask the most important sort of questions regarding teaching that had not been explained to him (according to Pomona).

She actually had no idea if the last was what he'd been like on train rides during his time as a student or not. Maybe after Lily, but when had he ever had questions he trusted other students to answer? Hermione told her once, many, many years later, that she'd once had points taken away for becoming an insufferable know-it-all. He'd been, really, the most insufferable know-it-all of all, because he'd never accepted help from anyone without complaining about the fact he had to.

Sometimes he just projected this arrogance that she secretly thought a little corporal punishment would still go a long way for. But Lily leaving him as a friend had turned him into one of the shell-like students who never really seemed to enjoy much anymore. Except the Dark Arts, but that was a given, wasn't it?

He became bitter and lonely and never seemed to laugh after that, and, really, it broke her heart. Severus, after all, was one of those students you notice (Horace had seemed to disagree, but he valued very outgoing, goal-oriented people), and Lily had definitely been one of those students you noticed (oh, Horace definitely agreed on this one), so the affects of such a friendship and such a parting of the ways were all too obvious.

He'd still had friends, of course, like Mulciber and other of the more rebellious Slytherins, however loose and meaningless those friendships might be. And now, being an ex-Death Eater, he was, perhaps, lonelier than ever, though she heard he still associated with the Malfoys from time to time.

He still had a sharp tongue, she knew—one just didn't lose a sharp tongue—but he had subdued it very well, for a time. She supposed being exposed to Dumbledore like a cadaver on the worktable of a mad scientist did that to a person. One of the reasons Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive. After all, Severus's mouth was best shut. All it seemed to do was incriminate him and enrage others. A sharp tongue eventually fights its way out of even the most tightly-held lips, though.

* * *

It typically took professors at least an entire term to get their footing and figure out what method they liked best. It took Severus Snape three days. The two of them, Minerva and Severus, Minerva thought wryly, were much too alike for their own good.

She found him in the staff room, empty except for Flitwick, who never meant any harm to anybody and was easy to ignore.

"How's our newest professor? Hanging in there, I trust?"

"Mm," he said noncommittally, still immersed in the text he was poring over.

"I saw the detention list, you know?"

He seemed to perk up a little, glancing up at her. "Good."

She paused for a moment, unsure whether or not to let on that she was not, in fact, outright congratulating him, as he seemed to think.

She merely cleared her throat and took her own seat at the table, nursing a cup of tea as he read.

He'd given out five detentions already. She was known for her strictness, but even she had not given out five detentions in as many days.

"Severus," she started, causing him to look over at her. When she paused again, he scowled.

"Have you never seen a book before? It's something people read—an action done in silence, ideally."

Flitwick looked up at that, looking from one to the other. Minerva exchanged a glance with him.

"Perhaps your office would be better suited to silence, Professor Snape. This is a social area."

"I'll leave, then, if you feel so strongly," he sneered.

"Don't bother," she said, floating her cup to the counter on the side near the window. "I was just leaving myself." She said, "Goodbye, Filius," over her shoulder before closing the door firmly shut behind her.

"Women," Severus said, rolling his eyes.

Filius's eyebrows rose, and he quickly glanced back down at his half-written curriculum.

"Is she always like that, Flitwick?"

Filius shrugged. It was already Snape's funeral. Wasn't about to be his.

* * *

Now that he was no longer as unsure and she no longer had any authority over him, he was indeed a right prick. At least he treated all people more or less the same—like dirt, usually, she thought dryly. Now that he seemed to have figured everything out for himself, he was independent as ever, and, in her opinion, becoming a real pain.

He refused point-blank to hold as much as an entire conversation with Quirinius Quirrel of Muggle Studies. Although, being a former Death Eater and all, she had to admit it might have been best they not get into any arguments, but there were other things than classes and theories in the world. Whether Snape knew of the existence of these things or not remained to be seen.

He sneered at everyone, looked down at most of the staff, and, for the first two months, entirely refused to accept invitations for other staff members to get to know him better.

"What he needs is a little alcohol," said Hooch with a nod.

"What he _needs_," Minerva said, "is a good kick."

"A drink's not a bad idea, Minerva," Flitwick said softly.

They all turned to him, nodding. It wasn't often Flitwick had a bad idea.

"It's settled, then," said Kettleburn gruffly, his three-fingered (well, three-and-a-half) hand curled around a cup of tea. "When shall we do it?" It was also his human hand. His other arm up to the shoulder was made of charmed wood.

"I suppose I could check his schedule," Minerva said. "Are you all sure this is a good idea?"

"What's the worst that could happen, eh?" Rolanda nudged her. "He says no?"

Her mouth thinned into a line, her brow creasing. "No. That's not the worst that could happen."

* * *

"He better let us in," Hooch said. "This is good stuff."

Poppy gently took one of the bottles from her. "Yes, quite good," she agreed, reading the label.

"Shh." Flitwick knocked on the door.

Snape cracked the door open, looking out at eye level, then looking down, opening the door a bit more. "Hello, Professor Flitwick," he said with a nod. He respected Flitwick. Minerva supposed it was because he was a legendary duelist back in his younger days. "Is...there a reason you're here?" Still cold, but hesitant, as if he indeed respected Flitwick's power.

"Why, yes, there is!" Flitwick said, reaching for Snape's hand, patting it. "I'm here to see you. Our colleagues are just around the corner—not all of them. Thought we'd stop by for a bit. Brought some drinks."

Severus carefully extricated his hand from the gentle grip. "I really don't think that's—"

"Lighten up," Rolanda grinned, rounding the corner and tossing him a bottle which he just barely managed to catch. His eyes were still wide as the rest followed suit, coming into view. "Good catch," she said with a wink.

He spotted Minerva. "I take it this was your idea." His eyes narrowed.

"No, no, silly. It was mine," Rolanda grinned. "So, come on, give us a tour."

"I think not."

"C'mon."

"...No."

"Look," she said seriously, "Sybill came down from her ivory tower for this." Sure enough, a glance to Rolanda's right showed the woman, clutching her own bottle of sherry, smiling hesitantly behind thick glasses. "You're going to drink, and you're going to like it."

He raised an eyebrow doubtfully.

"But perhaps the location is the problem," said Poppy helpfully. "We could reconvene to another person's office."

"What about mine?" Flitwick piped up.

Minerva thought she knew what he was up to. "Yes, yes, it's a very nice office."

"Up on the seventh floor," he said with a big smile. Severus's eyes narrowed and he stepped back, letting them in.

"Always knew you were a smart boy," Kettleburn said.

Severus's eyes narrowed a little more with each staff member that passed him: Hooch, Kettleburn, McGonagall, Pomfrey, and Trelawney.

Noting he had yet to unpack any furniture for the front room, Minerva tossed a tartan handkerchief onto the ground and transfigured it into a large sofa for temporary use.

Rolanda tsked when she noticed this. "Snape, dear, you've not unpacked in all this time?"

"That won't do," Poppy said, and Rolanda and Poppy both got out their wands, unsealing boxes. The highly offended expression on Snape's face lessened a bit when Minerva motioned to the large, tartan sofa. She sat down, as well as Trelawney, and he joined her, noting that she conjured a stool to help Flitwick get up on her other side.

Silvanus Kettleburn sat himself to Snape's right. "Witches," he said a little gruffly. "Got a daughter who's always redecorating my place. 'Dad,' she says, 'yer ain't got any style.' Daughters is particularly bad."

Minerva glanced back at the two witches who were fighting over where a chair they had resized went, yelling, "Duck!" as it flew across the room and found a place near the fireplace.

Minerva, Snape, and Kettleburn got their heads out of the way just in time to avoid serious injury, and Snape stared incredulously back at the two women.

"Look what you've done," Poppy sighed.

"Me? If you hadn't tried to stop me, it would have gone over their heads just fine."

Poppy shook her head. "Face it. You have horrible aim."

"I do not! I am an athlete!"

"And I am a mediwitch."

Snape stood. "And I am a potions master," he said a little coldly. "Kindly stop throwing chairs across my room before someone perceives it as an attack and retaliates."

He stalked into his bedroom, returning with a smaller box that had ten nice-looking, but not ornate wine glasses inside. After a few spells to take care of the dust they had accumulated, inspecting them, he sat them on the table.

Poppy and Rolanda were a bit shamed, but Poppy more than Rolanda, as she stepped forward then with the stuff she'd brought, helping pour. And when they were all drinking, and Snape had seemed to relax just a bit, Rolanda decided she'd go and have a peek in Snape's bedroom. Snape was deep in conversation with Silvanus about the best bat specimens for use in potions and didn't notice at first.

It was when Rolanda was coming back out that he spotted her, and stopped midsentence.

"Did you somehow get lost on your way to another glass?" he asked, and everyone turned to look at her as she shut the door to his bedroom closed behind her.

"No. Sorry, just thought I'd have a little peek."

Minerva could see, looking at him, that he was like a teakettle about to hit the boiling point, and that the whistle would be quite loud indeed.

"A little peek." Voice cold again. "Tell me, has the world of Quidditch caused you to lose your sense of manners entirely or is this a special treat you set aside for newcomers?"

"I didn't mean anything by it," she said with a small smile. "Come now..."

A flick of his wand at the door. "Out."

"Snape—"

"Perhaps you've had too many Bludgers to the head," he said in mock sympathy. "Out with you, before I throw you out myself."

She sighed, putting her glass back on the table, making her way to the door.

"Don't worry," he added sarcastically, causing her to pause and glance back at him. "I 'didn't mean anything by it'."

She closed the door gently behind her.

"Would anyone like to join Madam Hooch?" he asked, looking around at the rest of them. Trelawney merely hiccupped.

* * *

**Hufflepuff**

"What's that you're reading?" Rolanda had asked him casually one afternoon.

"Potions theory," he said automatically, not looking up.

"How...interesting, I'm sure. You should give this a try," she said, holding her finger in place and showing him the flying broomstick on the cover. "I know how much you like Quidditch."

He gave her a very condescending look. "No, you don't."

It was a testament to Snape's vast ability to hold a grudge that it took 2 years to open up to Hooch after the initial discord. For the rest of that year he was particularly cruel. "I assure you, there's no Quaffle in here," he might say if she entered a room with him in it, or, "Ah, it's the Amazon." To her immense credit, she took it all in stride.

She wasn't the only one he talked down about, however. Hagrid was a simple oaf, Vector was a pretentious know-it-all, Kettleburn should have found a new calling after his first body part disappeared, Sprout should have grown a personality, Albus should be sent to the Incurable Ward, Sinistra wasn't half as good at seducing men as she thought she was, Quirrell was a 'dangerous Muggle-loving twit', Binns was the reason no student appreciated the art of lecture anymore, Pomfrey wouldn't know Skele-Gro from Pepperup, Trelawney was a drunken eyesore, Babbling was irrational at best, and Minerva herself had slacked off on her strict reputation as a professor.

Yes, that was Snape. A little something for everybody. Not always to their faces, but sometimes, if he felt it was warranted. And Minerva had bitten her tongue just like the rest, for the moment. She thought these things were best taken care of as a team.

"He has to learn," she said firmly. "What will we do?"

"It's just his way of dealing with the world," Rolanda said, unbothered.

"It's not just his 'sense of humor'," Minerva said. "He asked me if we were allowed to revoke Quidditch privileges."

Hooch's eyes narrowed. "The bugger's going down."

"So how will we do it?" Poppy asked.

"I'm not certain. Perhaps a taste of his own medicine might be in order. Or would that only perpetuate the problem?" She sighed.

Sprout placed a hand on Minerva's shoulder. "Perhaps someone he hasn't spoken ill of could talk to him."

"And just who would that be?"

"Me," Filius piped up, and the rest of the women all smiled and nodded in agreement.

"He's right!" Pomona said helpfully. "He's right."

Minerva's mouth slowly moved into a sort of smirk.

"But just what would I say to the lad, Minerva?" he said quietly.

"Hopefully a lot less than I'd say to him," she said, her anger apparent in her eyes.

"What do you think brought this all on?" the small man said with a sigh.

"My theory," Poppy said, "is too much responsibility, too much social ineptitude."

"We're all a little socially inept," Rolanda said. "What Snape is suffering from is arrogance. Apparently, ignoring him doesn't help either."

"He must be lonely," Pomona said gently.

"If you want to plan another get-together, Pomona, you be my guest," said Hooch in reply. "I'd rather not aggravate the problem anymore, personally."

Minerva was a little annoyed with the fact the discussion was going nowhere. "There must be someone he's taken a liking to," she said.

"There is."

"Oh?"

"Filch," Filius said, to a nod from Pomfrey.

"Filch? Is that all?"

"Well, I think he likes Pince too," he added. "Or, at least he seemed to last I saw them together."

"Well if he wasn't hurling insults, I'm certain that qualifies for as close as he gets to 'liking' anyone. He wasn't this bad as a student, was he? I remember him being more civil."

"Not to his peers," Rolanda said wryly.

"Well, then we've got to knock him down a few pegs."

"Perhaps it's his way of interacting with people. We should be gentle about it."

"Pomona, the man is anything but gentle."

"So perhaps he needs to be taught how to _be_ gentle. You see?"

"No, I don't see," Minerva replied. "I think we'll need to approach him with an ultimatum.

"Fighting fire with fire," Sprout said with a sigh.

"Fighting fire with the stamping of boots," Minerva corrected a bit heatedly. "Which is proven to work, or didn't you know?"

"Perhaps you have a point," Flitwick said encouragingly. "Now, what exactly is this ultimatum?"

"We can figure that out along the way," Hooch said, clapping Minerva on the back. "Minerva, old girl, I'll come with you."

"Perhaps, considering the circumstances, you shouldn't, Rolanda."

Rolanda's eyes narrowed, but she did not contest it.

"I wish to be accompanied by Poppy, Pomona, and whoever else will. I was hoping Silvanus would be in, but I think he's at home this weekend."

"Yes, that's what he said," Pomona confirmed. "He's visiting his daughter and her family."

"Haven't you gotten to meet them _yet_, old girl?"

"No, not yet. But you know how he is. He's a little scatter-brained."

"Hence the missing limbs," Hooch teased, drawing a soft smile from Pomona.

"So he's out. Tomorrow we'll corner Snape and give him what's what. This is a professional work environment and I won't tolerate any one of us acting like a child."

"Minerva?"

"Yes, Filius?"

"Tell me how it goes," he said grimly.

* * *

Minerva motioned them into the staff room. "Good morning, Professor Snape," she said.

He looked up at her, but his eyes narrowed as he caught sight of the other two women. All three were standing together, watching him. He slowly put down his quill. "Well? What is it?" He said.

"It's you," she said simply. "You've got to stop being such a child."

"A child," he said coldly.

"Yes. You know, a selfish, ungrateful man who acts like he's still a student rather than a professor."

"What Minerva means to say," Pomona cut in, "is that you may have made a few comments that were taken to be in bad form."

"And?"

"And," she continued, "it would be greatly appreciated if you would...hesitate to do so. In the future."

He gazed at her levelly, saying nothing.

"Greatly," she repeated softly.

"No one is very happy with you right now," Poppy added. "Seeing as you plan to be here for a while to come, don't you think it would be nice to get along with everyone?"

When they all seemed to be waiting for an answer, he said, "Not particularly."

"Look," Minerva said. "We've all been at our jobs much longer than you have. The way you're talking down about your colleagues needs to stop, and it needs to stop now. Not just in the future. Now. I've had it. It seemed as if this year was going to start off well, at the beginning. It's nearly Christmas and you've been phenomenally rude to every single one of us, except, of course, the staff members who are rude already. You can form friends or form enemies, but know what you say to the people around you _does_matter."

His eyes narrowed. "Alright, then. Piss off."

Professor McGonagall gritted her teeth before turning on her heels and leaving the staff room.

Poppy shot Snape a disapproving glance, shaking her head as she followed her.

Pomona sighed, sitting carefully at the end of the table. "Professor Snape, how has your year been so far?" she asked, to no answer. "It seems to me like you rushed into finding your niche, just a bit."

He turned to a new Potions essay and continued grading.

"If you really didn't want to be around people, wouldn't you do this sort of thing in your office? I agree with you, though; it's very nice in here. Alone and with colleagues." He still was not talking, and she sighed again. "Well, if you aren't going to talk, I will."

She watched him for another moment. He kept grading, making no indication that he was even aware of her presence anymore.

She took off her patched hat, placing it on the table in front of her. She saw him briefly glance at it, then turn back to grading. "My name is Pomona Sprout. I'm the Head of Hufflepuff. You were in my class while you were at Hogwarts, right up through your N.E.W.T.s. I love plants, and I love dirt, and I like brewing potions. I don't like harsh words, or condescending attitudes. But I know everyone is lonely and sad and angry and tender and, everything, at some point. It's what makes us people.

"I've been dating Silvanus Kettleburn for a while now, after I finally gave into his advances. That man used to be so reckless! He was on probation over four dozen times, you know." She smiled. He still did not react.

"He's less stubborn now, and much more open to listening to the advice of others. He has this daughter. I've never met her, but I've seen pictures. Her name is Eponine. Isn't that beautiful? He wasn't around much—you know how much time Hogwarts takes from us—but he was around enough, I suppose. His wife died fifty years ago. Eponine has her own family now. I wonder if they've all got blonde hair like hers. I've never met them either."

She saw his stack of essays still to grade was getting lighter.

"He says he wants to get married soon. But we're waiting on my personality. It still hasn't blossomed yet," she said, and this time she saw his eyebrows raise slightly. "Yes, I know you said that about me. I believe you also noted my patched clothing. I feel sorry for you, you know. Maybe you wish we'd all say terrible things about you. But I'm not going to."

He was all tensed, so she left it at that, humming to herself as she watched him finish up. "Snape," she said as he tried to pass her.

He turned slightly, but did not turn to face her.

"You can try to make me your enemy. Chances are, it's not going to work."

* * *

**Ravenclaw**

Severus Snape never apologized, so no one really expected him to, and he lived up to those expectations. He did, however, limit his snide remarks. In fact, he didn't say a lot that was personal at all. He kept to himself after their little intervention. No one made any more efforts to reach him, and he certainly made none himself.

Minerva felt as if she'd wasted a lot of effort on a lost cause, and she didn't like feeling like that. She hoped against hope that he'd come off of his high horse soon, whether soon meant by Christmas, by the end of the term, by the end of the term after that, five years from then, or whatever else.

At least he had stopped with the meanness, but now he did indeed seem lonely, aloof, cut off. She wondered why these types stuck with her. It'd be easy to be able to blow them off, like Albus seemed to be able to do, when need be. But she felt oddly connected to the young ones who had never learned how to cope socially. Or, rather, she felt disconnected from them, which made her feel a noble sort of Gryffindor pull to help them. They may not have been crying out for help, but she could see they were clearly drowning.

This was why she decided she'd have to ask Filch what he thought of Snape, and Pince what she thought too.

* * *

"He's a good man, Professor. Used to cause a bit of trouble back in the day, din' he? Powerful. Not afraid to get his hands dirty." That was Filch's answer. Straight and to the point, gruff. He hadn't even stopped scrubbing the floors as he answered.

"Snape?" Pince asked, face softening a little. "He lived for the library as a student. He helped me, just a little, with the curses on the books. Sure, he has helped out since he's been on staff, but he used to help out as a student too. Encyclopedic knowledge of curses, that boy had." Her eyes were glowing with a certain fondness that Minerva found, honestly, a bit odd. And then she'd turned and shrieked at a girl for not returning a book in the precise manner specified on the parchment.

Alright. So he was into violence and curses. Great for theories of keeping students in line and keeping books safe, but not so great for establishing and maintaining personal relationships.

She went to Flitwick about it. "Maybe if we could understand him," she said, shaking her head a little.

"Understanding is the goal of Ravenclaw house," he said, smiling.

She nodded, sipping at her tea. Oftentimes when she had to check on the Gryffindor students, she would just pop on in and visit him in his office, if it was still a reasonable hour. He loved having visitors. She loved the way his face would light up when she did. Thank god the world was not as asocial as Severus Snape.

"What would you like to understand?" he squeaked.

"Oh, I'd just like to be able to change him. Do you know what I mean, Filius?"

He nodded. "He'll change in time. You'll figure out how, Minerva. I just know it. In the mean time, I could list things I've already noticed about Professor Snape. Perhaps they could aid you in your understanding."

There was soon a piece of parchment and a quill in her hand, and he chuckled softly.

"Well, he's not so bad, himself, really. Here, let me see." He cleared his throat.

Filius recalled seeing a shimmery sort of square he had at first assumed was simply a magically-created "window", up on Snape's wall. It had taken him a few days to realize was in a spot where a window would only have shown dirt, and therefore was even more magical than he had thought. "He likes the sunlight."

He recalled the way he spotted Snape bringing a baby bird back into the castle that he apparently nursed back to health, instead of putting it into a potion, which he wouldn't have put past the man. "He cares for small animals. Birds, at least."

"I really never would have guessed," Minerva said, a little surprised. Before she became _very_ surprised.

"He has a sweet tooth," Flitwick continued, "he's in love with the game of Quidditch. He lives in a Muggle neighborhood, he still keeps in touch with Lucius Malfoy, and I'm fairly certain I heard him hum along with 'I'm A Desperate Witch (Just Looking For Love)', but don't quote me on that one. Or any of that," he added with a little flush and a giggle. His powers of observation and ability to appear unthreatening were monumental.

"Filius, once again you have astounded me," she said, smiling very slightly. She sat her cup back on its saucer. "I'm going to call it a night, but thank you for that insight. There's still hope for him yet, isn't there?"

"Absolutely, Minerva. He's just a little lost."

"Suppose I'll have to go find him, then."

"Suppose you will." He patted her hand and watched her go. "Good night, Minerva."

"Good night, Filius."

* * *

Kettleburn had gotten through the weekend of his home visit just fine, but it was about a week and a half later that he got a nasty sting off a very young Chimera in the forest, and no one knew anything about how it had gotten there. And if they did know, they weren't saying anything. For once, it didn't look like Hagrid's doing either.

After managing to freeze the poison, Dumbledore sent Poppy and Severus both to work on trying to save the man. For the entire week his life was in jeopardy Pomona fretted and cried, and Dumbledore found her a substitute for her classes. By the end of it all, Chimera eggs were classified as Class A non-tradable goods. It had been about time.

But during the ordeal, tensions among the staff were very high. Severus in particular was cutting and short-tempered, but this time the reason no one spoke up about it at first was because they understood. Holding someone's life in your hands was no easy task, after all.

But Minerva watched him work very hard, as well as teach classes, and he had Silvanus back in health in eight days.

The thing that struck Minerva at the moment of Kettleburn's initial stabilization of status was the way he let Pomona cry next to him with merely an awkward sort of uncertainty. He wasn't angry, he wasn't annoyed, just a bit out of his element.

Another thing that struck her was that after that point at which the potions were clearly working, he seemed to calm and even stopped Poppy from removing Kettleburn's daughter Eponine from the room as he observed Kettleburn for a bit. Maybe he was already starting to grow. Maybe.

* * *

Kettleburn's return to normal life had them going to the Three Broomsticks. A glowing Pomona invited Severus along, but he absolutely refused to join them. Seemed to all be back to square one on the social front, then. Minerva supposed they would just have to get used to the fact Horace Slughorn: Social Butterfly had been replaced by Severus Snape: Social Wasp.

"Now Silvanus, don't order anything—"

"With alcohol," he finished for Pomfrey. Her harsh expression softened.

"I know, Poppy, thank you. Po," he said, taking Sprout's hand, "what do you think of Eponine?"

"She's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful. It's really too bad about those expenses, though."

"Oh, no, everything's fine now, thanks to you, pet."

"Thanks to me? What did I do?"

He paused. "You mean to tell me the anonymous donation for the Mungo's bill wasn't you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Then who was it?"

Silvanus, Pomona, and Eponine never did figure out who it was. While Poppy thought she knew, she wasn't sure. It would make sense, anyway, that it would be the only other staff member who was in the room while Eponine was telling her father about what she was going through. It would make a lot of sense. Minerva had suspicions too.

* * *

**Gryffindor**

"How would you like to bet on the final game's turnout, Professor Snape?"

He looked over at her, raising an eyebrow, intrigued. He took a few more bites of his toast, considering. "How much are we talking?" he finally said.

* * *

"Professor Snape. Would you like a chocolate frog?"

The look he gave her was withering. "Why would I want a chocolate frog?"

"Just take the damn candy, Professor," she said, holding it out to him. "Unless, of course, you'd like to check it for poison first?"

He narrowed his eyes and stared her down for a little while longer before accepting it. On her way down the corridor, she heard him open it.

* * *

He loved to discuss theory, even if it was very hard to prod him into it. All sorts of magical theory, everything you could think of, and he liked discussing. She knew this from eavesdropping in on him and Sinistra and Pomona and, sometimes, even Kettleburn. Yes, she was eavesdropping. But there was nothing sinister about that. Well, nothing _too_sinister. It was just another form of observation.

She tried to engage him in Transfiguration theory. It was difficult, but eventually they ended up having a nice discussion.

Come Christmas time, Minerva gifted him with a handful of uncommon potions ingredients.

* * *

**Slytherin**

"What are you trying to pull?"

"I really have no idea what you're talking about. And it's midnight."

"I'm aware of the hour, thank you," he said silkily. He was still fully dressed in his robes from the day. "You've given me things, tried to form some sort of a...connection or something. Why?"

"Why? Because that's what colleagues do."

"You, McGonagall, are no typical colleague. What do you want?"

She sniffed. "I was under the impression you were appreciating the efforts. You know, being a human being and all."

"Perhaps it is a Gryffindor thing to blindly accept favors before figuring out the intent."

"The intent is the favor. But by all means, continue to analyze my every move."

"I plan on it."

"Severus, I'm not a potions experiment," she said a little coolly. "You don't have to figure me out."

"Apparently I do."

"If anyone should be analyzing anyone, I should do so to you! You are a mystery to everyone. No one knows what to expect from you in a serious situation. Will you take your swing at the Bludger or will you let petty issues get in the way? It's not a very amusing guessing game."

"This, McGonagall," he said, gesturing between them, "is also not a very amusing guessing game. So I suppose I'll just come out and say it. Set your sights on someone else."

"My 'sights'?" Her lip thinned.

"Yes. Your sights. I know what you're after." He gave her a look that clearly indicated he thought she should be ashamed of herself.

"You think I want to...to what, have relations with you?" she said suddenly.

"If the tartan house slipper fits."

"You have quite some nerve!"

"What, it isn't true?"

"Of course it isn't! Why would I want that?"

"Because you're lonely and I'm young," he pointed out.

She was furious. "You have quite some nerve," she repeated. "You thought I was trying to soften you up with gifts? What next, did you think I'd try to get you drunk? The old mistletoe trick? Blackmail you about god knows what?"

He said nothing, but his expression certainly said he thought she would do all of those things and more if given an inch.

"The idea is laughable."

"And yet, neither of us are laughing."

"What about you? Projecting your fears onto me. And perhaps your desires! I am 56 years old, and a woman, and I am very careful about my own actions. You, however, are a lusty, filthy, vile young man of only 21! Who is really the pervert, Severus Snape? You tell me that!"

He flicked his wand, mistletoe growing right above them, between them, in the middle of the doorway. "I don't know. Who is the pervert, Minerva?"

They both glanced up at it. He leaned in, and she felt herself freeze for a moment, her eyes closing. Then she heard a soft chuckle against her cheek, like a warm breeze in the spring.

"It's you," she heard him say cruelly, and she opened her eyes. She grasped the front of his robes and tugged him closer, taking the kiss from him just for that insolence, feeling him sort of melt into it, to her surprise.

She released the fabric, watching him sort of stumble back, a confused expression on his face that she very much enjoyed. "Happy Christmas. Now go to bed."

He waved his wand, making the mistletoe disappear, face darkening. "Well, whatever you're doing isn't going to work. I've figured you out."

"Seriously," she said, "you should really go to bed." She shut the door on him. He hadn't figured out half as much as she had.

* * *

It sent her into a state of shock when she received a knock at her office door and saw Snape in the doorway again and he _didn't_ appear to want her head for a midday snack. It did, however, take him a while to say whatever it was he intended to say.

"Tea?"

He seemed to relax a little. "No thank you."

"You might as well step inside."

He looked a little uneasy, and declined with a shake of his head. "Are you busy?" he asked.

"I've got some grading to do, but besides that I'm not. Look, about last week's mistletoe episode—"

"Come take a walk with me."

She decided that he was serious. "And at the end of this walk, do I end up face down in the Black Lake?" she quipped.

"It's my birthday," he added.

She sighed. "Very well." She found her coat.

The grounds were sparkling with snow, the trees crystal ornaments, and it was still early so there was very little wind.

"I must admit, I'm a bit surprised to see you not avoiding something, for once."

"I have always been a master at the art of surprise," he said with a characteristic smirk. Then he promptly kissed her again.

* * *

**House Unity**

Minerva realized a few things. While Snape was still tolerable at best to most of the staff, he was different when they were alone together. Somehow his sharpness turned into softness and his sneers into chuckles. Sometimes they would lie on the sofa next to each other, staring into the fire as they held each other.

Sometimes, of course, they still fought. About detentions, about overworking, about who forgot to make the bed.

And sometimes about more serious things, like Muggles and non-pure-bloods and Voldemort. But they never let it come between them.

Minerva and Severus were together for fifteen and a half years.

* * *

They respected each other's intelligence enough to run curriculums by each other and ask for opinions. They didn't always take kindly to any suggestions, but at least they tried not to get too annoyed. And if that failed, they at least stopped before hexes.

* * *

In Harry's first term, Minerva was adamant about getting the other professor to appreciate Harry, but Snape was adamant about not doing so. Even though she was stubborn, she wasn't as stubborn as he was about it, so they decided to bury the Potter-shaped hatchet.

They worked on their protection for the stone together. She thought his poem was a bit wordy and he thought her keys were ghastly.

He threatened to make her try out the puzzle for herself and she threatened the same.

She claimed she was much more logical than he thought. He claimed he was a better flier than he'd been as a student. They made each other prove it.

Snape cried out and stopped her when she chose a bottle with poison in it, and Minerva helped him to the infirmary when he overreached and fell off the broom.

* * *

Noting the other professor's anger at Lockhart's suggestion that he'd actually talk to a student about anything, much less show an underaged student how to brew an illegal potion, Minerva took it upon herself to calm him down. She quietly asked him if he'd make her one, because there was a young man she'd enjoy seducing. His smirk of amusement and her pat to his hand said everything.

* * *

He was a nightmare while Sirius Black was on the loose. He was angry and cold, and it took forever to get him in the mood. At first she could maintain some sort of control over his violent emotions, but after Sirius broke into Gryffindor tower, she gave that up. She was too furious as well.

* * *

They refused to even hold a civil conversation for the few weeks after Harry's being chosen as fourth champion in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. Much like the torn student body, which held friends who were doing the same. Thank god Snape came around. He still refused to help out with any of the events, but Minerva was sure the teachers would get along well enough without him.

When Voldemort returned, she felt him slide in next to her, gently trembling, and soothed her hands along his still-clothed sides until he stopped.

"Shh," she whispered. "I'll have none of that." He turned and nuzzled into her shoulder like a child seeking warmth. She stroked his slightly greasy hair. He was beautiful like that.

* * *

When he was teaching Harry Occlumency, he would rant to her about how hopeless Harry was. She had given up trying to change his opinion of the boy long before, and simply continued to read Witch Weekly as he went on and on. He used to tease her about her choice in publication at first, relentless as always, until she caught him reading it too one night, while he was stuck waiting for her. Luckily for him, getting revenge wasn't really her idea of an ideal evening.

She would rant to him too that term. Oh Merlin, how she would rant! That Umbridge woman was as incompetent as they came and completely out to ruin Dumbledore's school.

* * *

When she took the stunners to the chest, Poppy will vouch for how very annoying he was about it. He kept wanting her to _do something_ about it. Poppy kept telling him she would recover in time.

He sent Minerva flowers and he visited her, once. And there was hell to pay for anyone who even spoke about her.

When she came back from the hospital, he seemed to be in a haze of relief. It didn't last all that long, but long enough for the students to appreciate it.

* * *

Severus had seemed stressed throughout the year, and it didn't pass by her unnoticed. Of course, he couldn't talk about any of it. She understood what it meant to be a spy. She was just there to help him de-stress, just as he had been known to do for her, if rarely.

At least he was enjoying teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, and, since he was one of the best she'd ever seen with nonverbal spells, she knew the children would at least learn that much from him. Sometimes he got his facts about dark creatures mixed up, or was unfair, but at least he was enjoying what he was doing.

He seemed to be bothered by Slughorn's presence. Perhaps because he was never really noticed by the man as a student, his talents merely acknowledged but not doted upon, but perhaps also because the students seemed to like him more. And not without reason.

After Horace's Christmas party, they'd had one of their own. The two of them and a bottle of wine. They'd exchanged their small, practical gifts, and it was bliss.

Minerva had always considered herself a tough woman, so it was a bit annoying how heartbroken she'd gotten when the events of the end of the year had unfolded and her boyfriend of fourteen years had killed the greatest wizard of the age and ran off. She told herself she would never forgive him.

* * *

Even the most stubborn people don't hold up to their own promises, though. He had the audacity to come back as headmaster. She didn't know for sure what made her feel for him at first. Perhaps it was the way he seemed to look as nervous as that first day at the staff table. Not to the outside observer, but certainly to his lover of fifteen years.

Perhaps it was the way he looked at her with a sad longing that he never voiced.

Perhaps it was the longing in her own eyes for Dumbledore's death, for the current way the school was run, all of it, to be a dream.

Whatever it was, she didn't stop seeing him in the night.

In the quietness of that world the two of them had always shared, now tainted by blood and long falls and the Avada Kedavra, tainted by students' screams, sometimes he would whisper that she didn't understand, and she would say nothing in reply. It seemed to be enough.

It was stupid, perhaps, her hope. But isn't love just that? She preferred to think of it as bravery anyway.

Eventually, though, the time came to get him out of the school. The students' safety was more important than false hope and a love that never was. She chased him out of the school as she would've any man who was a threat to the students. A threat to her heart.

It hurt to do it. Of course it had. But she had believed it was the right thing to do.

* * *

When she found out about his bravery, she had him buried on the school grounds in the same way Dumbledore had been. It wasn't like anywhere else had felt like home to him. She got to go through his things at Spinner's End and she accepted what things he appropriated to her in his will.

He had found a niche, alright. Right in Minerva's heart. She was glad of it. They had had a good run, the two of them. They'd even parted ways on earth in what you might call an argument. Fitting.

She had hope again. Hope that they would be together in the next life. That hope didn't seem stupid at all.

As headmistress, she found there were many offers of "favors". She accepted none of them. After all, she was a very stubborn woman.

* * *

One day, when she was very old, she went to bed wearing a tartan gown and never awoke. Instead she travelled to a place, a lovely place of greenery and fountains and soft little flowers. At first, she did indeed wonder where she was. And then she realized the wrinkles on her hands were gone.

She walked on a bit more. There, under a tree, reading a book, was Severus Snape.

"It took you long enough, Minerva." His lip quirked in a way that made her want to kiss it.

She yanked the book out of his hand.

"Give it back," he said, scowling.

"Come and get it yourself, Snape, you lazy bum." She waved it, taunting him, pulling away when he made a grab for it.

It wasn't until she ran, her black hair whipping out behind her like the cape of a warrior at charge, that he grumblingly pushed himself up and took chase.


End file.
